


Behind my smile, it shakes my teeth

by bklt



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 15:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20410063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bklt/pseuds/bklt
Summary: It was love at first sight—not in the way that Beth constantly and immaturely teased her about—but something else. That pull she felt when Wynonna entered the room, the way she smiled and relaxed when she laid on her bed for an afternoon of shittalking and shitty daytime television. It was how every occasion seemed so momentous when Wynonna was around, that everything could slip away and Mercedes wouldn’t give a fuck if it did.And it was here now, grumpy and pensive and refusing to look at her. It would’ve been annoying if it wasn’t sort of flattering. She was the one Wynonna called with the express purpose to be miserable around after all. But even so, Mercedes wished Wynonna would look at her. Just to see if she was looking too.Sometimes there are conversations that should've gone differently.





	Behind my smile, it shakes my teeth

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm such a shit, Wynonna. People used to make fun of you when you talked about what happened to Willa. I was too chicken to say it, but I believed you. 
> 
> Demons. They do exist."

Mercedes was getting bored of the Facebook rabbit hole she trapped herself in. Everyone’s shitty pictures and barely witty status updates were substanceless, a futility she wasn’t proud to admit she was familiar with. Save for the occasional strange stories that so defined Purgatory, things were always the same. There was nothing of interest to talk about, and Mercedes could pinpoint the exact location of each backdrop in every photo, Purgatory offering little in the way of new discoveries and places to be. She was aware of how hypocritical she was being. She engaged in it too, because how could she not? If she laid out her life online maybe she could believe it was worth talking about, and everyone else could have the same unspoken courtesy of pretending to believe it too. 

For what must have been the fifth time that evening, Mercedes typed in Wynonna’s name and shifted in her leather office chair, knowing that it was like looking into the fridge and expecting something new to pop up. Wynonna barely updated her Facebook. Yet Mercedes found herself beginning to click through her pictures, the majority of them ones she’d been tagged in—or, rather, ones that Wynonna hadn’t taken the time to remove her tag from. Smiling to herself, Mercedes began to go through all of them, something lodging itself in her chest picture after picture. There was one she lingered on, however. It was a candid photo where Wynonna wasn’t even the focus, smiling in the background to an out-of-frame Mercedes to her right. The feeling in her chest swelled the more Mercedes focused, and she wished she remembered more of that night instead of the vodka-induced _ whatever _ experience she had that wasn’t even worth recalling. Maybe then she could've remembered what she did to make Wynonna smile. 

When her phone vibrated beside her she jumped and closed the browser window, feeling as if she’d been caught. It was silly; she was the only one in her room after all, and it wasn’t as if she was browsing something embarrassing. She picked up her phone.

_ you up? _

Mercedes grinned. It was 11pm on a Friday night—of course she was up. But she knew that wasn’t what the text was asking.

_ Yeah? Why? _

And Mercedes knew that wasn’t what she was really asking either. Which was why she started gathering her things and changing out of her pajamas into something warm, a pink Aeropostale hoodie and a pair of track pants that she didn’t mind if they got dirty. The reply came in just as she grabbed her keys from her dresser.

_ im outside _

Shutting her bedroom door behind her, Mercedes quietly made her way down the stairs, avoiding the step that always creaked in the middle. She was almost positive that her parents knew about her late night excursions, but they didn’t care as long as she didn’t get into too much trouble and came home with her car intact. Those were the two rules; no police, no drinking and driving. So it wasn’t them she was worried about. To wake Beth or Tucker would be absolutely annoying, and they’d whine about it to no end, as if they somehow had a personal stake in whatever she did. It was weird. Why they gave a shit was so beyond her.

She was on the home stretch, her feet hitting the floor and mere steps away from the front door before she heard a familiar voice.

“Where’re you going?”

“Jesus-” Mercedes spun around to face her little sister, who was leaning on the doorframe to the completely dark living room. “What, you’re just sitting in the dark by yourself?” 

Mercedes didn’t need the light to make out the sneer on Beth’s face. “Hanging out with your girlfriend?”

This again. Real original. “I know friendship is a wild concept to you, but you should try it sometime.” She rolled her eyes and shoved her Adidas on.

“I’m telling mom and dad.”

No she wasn’t. It was too much fun for Beth to threaten the same, inconsequential thing each time.

“Go right a-fucking-head, Bethany.”

Mercedes didn’t have the time or energy to deal with Beth being Beth—ever, really—and she flung the front door open, her eyes immediately locking around the corner of the driveway where she knew Wynonna would come slinking out of. She held up her keys and unlocked her car as a signal that all was clear, Wynonna coming into view and slipping into the car without as much as a hello. She hadn’t changed since school, still wearing her red flannel and shoving her backpack at her feet.

Shit. This wasn't good. Mercedes hid a frown and joined Wynonna in her car, who was busy grinding the back of her head into the headrest.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Wynonna scowled and rolled down the window. “Yeah, no, I’m good.” 

She thought as much. Mercedes pulled out of the long driveway, heading the same direction they always did on nights like this; a cliff in the forest that overlooked the Big City, forty-five minutes out and perfect in the dead of night. Her and Wynonna found it together once, during someone’s shitty birthday bash when they needed to escape the idiocy of it all. They shared a bottle of cheap cinnamon whiskey and sat on their sweaters on the flat rock, their conversation memorable only in how it felt in the moment, the actual words forever lost in the haze of faded non-sobriety. Though Mercedes would never say it aloud, seeing the city lights below her was invigourating, a visual representation of something chaotic and _ crowded _ for once. Because behind them in the forest were the same, boringly whoops and laughter from the same, boringly recognizable people, and those lights served to remind Mercedes that something else was in reach. Having Wynonna by her side certainly helped. If anyone was chaos incarnate, after all, it was her. But in their shared public privacy at the party, Wynonna was anything but chaotic, a facet apparently only reserved for her.

“Light me a cigarette?”

Wynonna opened the middle console and took out the pack, bending her head below the open window to light it. After a few metallic clicks, Mercedes saw the amber glow out of the corner of her eye, Wynonna taking a long drag before handing it over and blowing smoke out the window.

“Thanks.”

Wynonna only nodded and put her foot up on the car door, chin in hand and back to staring out into the night. And it was a nice night, all told. It had that rare, mild spring heat that heralded the coming of summer, the smell of damp earth from the forest around them almost enough to cover the tobacco smoke. 

She really should quit smoking, Mercedes thought. Her life was barely stressful enough to warrant it, and she was more than aware that it was a habit formed out of simply wanting something to do. That was the thing with small towns; it was a constant search for entertainment, and it was usually found in the holy trinity of alcohol, cigarettes, and drugs. Maybe after she’d moved out for University she could convert to something else. Only a few months and she could leave everything behind and never look back.

Mercedes looked over at Wynonna. 

She was digging her fingertips into her black jeans, her strong jawline tensed by whatever thought was on her mind. That’s when Mercedes saw it; deep purple bruises and bright red gashes on Wynonna’s knuckles, apparent under the now steady stream of lamplight. Mercedes wanted to be shocked. This sort of thing happened so many times with Wynonna that she only waved her hand towards her.

“Whose ass did you kick this time?” 

Wynonna seemed confused before she held up her hand, looking at it like it was a new appendage that had sprouted out of nowhere. “Oh.” She sucked in her lips and fumbled at the buttons of her flannel. “Yeah.”

“Ever think it’s kinda scary you can forget you got into a fight?”

“Kinda scary or kinda awesome?”

“It’s kinda sad dude.”

Wynonna shrugged and slid her hand into her sleeve.

“So what happened?” 

“Can we just listen to music?”

Normally Mercedes wouldn’t press the issue with Wynonna. But something was definitely off about her tonight, and not in the usual way where she was all whiskey and words and a whirlwind of emotion. This was something else entirely.

“I’m asking you again when we’re there,” Mercedes warned, and turned on the stereo.

“Whatever.”

Wynonna sank deeper into her seat and crossed her arms over her chest as the album started—Doolittle—both of their favourite Pixies album. Mercedes would never have listened to it or any of the music she did now if it weren’t for Wynonna. She cranked up the volume, knowing that Wynonna Hath Spoken; there wasn’t going to be any further conversation with her friend until they’d made it to the forest. The simple catharsis of blasting music on a night drive was meditative, and if that’s what Wynonna wanted, Mercedes would oblige. Truth be told, Mercedes wasn’t sure she was in the mood for much chatter either. Wynonna had a way of dragging Mercedes into whatever her headspace was. She was sort of magnetic like that. 

Nothing like anyone else—a fact that had set her apart for the worse to everyone, seemingly except for Mercedes. That was what pissed Mercedes off to no end. That no matter how much jeering Wynonna endured, how much _ shit _ she took on a daily basis, they always invited her to their parties, willing and able to forget everything her name carried for the night. Because everyone was as stuck and unsure as Mercedes was, and Wynonna was a chisel to the mold that no one else had the balls to break. No one wanted to admit that maybe, even just a little, they even kind of liked her.

The contradictory love and hate for Wynonna Earp.

Not Mercedes. It was love at first sight—not in the way that Beth constantly and immaturely teased her about—but something else. That pull she felt when Wynonna entered the room, the way she smiled and relaxed when she laid on her bed for an afternoon of shittalking and shitty daytime television. It was how every occasion seemed so momentous when Wynonna was around, that everything could slip away and Mercedes wouldn’t give a fuck if it did.

And it was here now, grumpy and pensive and refusing to look at her. It would’ve been annoying if it wasn’t sort of flattering. She was the one Wynonna called with the express purpose to be miserable around after all. But even so, Mercedes wished Wynonna would look at her. Just to see if she was looking too.

She took a drag of her cigarette. Maybe she wouldn’t quit after all.

The album was almost finished by the time Mercedes pulled into the small, gravel parking lot outside of the forest trail, her highbeams too bright and grotesquely white across the leaves. Wynonna was the first out, waiting by the trunk for Mercedes to pop it, where she had a flashlight each and an old, scratchy tartan patterned wool blanket. The chirps of insects were louder than the two of them combined, Wynonna silently heading off before Mercedes could grab the blanket and close the trunk.

“Okay,” Mercedes said, turning on her flashlight and directing branches away from her face. “We’re here. What the hell happened to your hand?”

“Not _ there _ there yet.”

“Seriously Wynonna?” 

“Mercedes-” she stopped abruptly, the dead leaves beneath her feet crunching as she pressed her hand against Mercedes’ chest, tense at first, then softening as she sighed. “Just...later. Okay?”

Mercedes caught her breath. Wynonna’s expression was illegible without the flashlight glow. “Okay.”

She patted Mercedes gently, turning back around with her flashlight raised as they began walking again. It was difficult trekking uphill, their legs moving in frantic, directionless struggle in an attempt to keep themselves from slipping downward. Their spot wasn’t too far from the trail—it was actually quite easy to find. Yet it seemed so important and personal on the night of the party, where the circumstances made it seem like a sacred pocket carved out just for them, despite how obvious it was. It was overly sentimental, Mercedes knew; it was an attempt to chase the same feeling they had that night, that maybe returning to the same spot would continue to evoke something just as powerful.

When they reached even ground Mercedes knew they were almost there, Wynonna slowing her pace in front of her and both of them breathing heavily from the exertion of their climb. Mercedes could make it out in the distance, the trees parting onto the rock, the smooth stone radiating the pale blue of moonlight, a beacon in the dark.

They turned off their flashlights simultaneously when their feet hit the rock, Mercedes throwing the blanket onto the ground and straightening it out for the two of them to sit on. Mercedes took a moment to appreciate her surroundings when the two of them had settled down. The Big City was as vast as ever, tall corporate buildings hitting the inky black sky, the river shining with the lights of the waterfront buildings, a little city of its own made out of the reflection. 

For all of her expressiveness Wynonna could be so hard to read sometimes. All Mercedes could see was that there was something secret brewing underneath, Wynonna wincing into the distance at nothing in particular.

“So what’s up?”

Wynonna parted her lips to say something but hesitated, whatever initial thought she had shoved back down her throat. “I’m kind of jealous. You get to leave right away.”

“Why? You can’t?”

“Come on. _ Some _ people don’t have rich parents.”

“_Some _ people have ways of getting paid for things.” 

“Mm, I’m flattered you think I actually get that much money. Doesn’t work like that.” Running a hand through her long, brown hair, Wynonna sighed and sat back on her hands. “I’m eighteen soon. Then I’ll have options.”

“What? Pussy Willows?”

“Yep.” She popped the “p” with a flair. “Preeetty sure nowhere else is gonna hire me.”

“And you’d be good at it.”

“Y’know if anyone else said that…”

“A kick to the box,” Mercedes grinned. “Hey, you know I don’t give a shit about that kind of thing. Get that cash. Do whatever, girl.”

For the first time that night, Wynonna smiled too, that slow smile she gave when she approved of something. It was a rare thing, and Mercedes felt victorious for having won it.

“So. That fight.”

Wynonna’s smile evapourated. “Yeah, put a pin in that. I uh,” she sighed. “I did get into a fight with Waverly, though. Like, verbal.”

“What kind of fight can you even get into with her? Isn’t she like, ten?”

“Eleven,” Wynonna corrected. “And not all siblings are as dumb as yours. She puts up a fight.”

“Hey!”

“Am I wrong?”

“No, but…” But they were her siblings. “I mean, if I made fun of Waverly or-” she stopped herself.

“Or Willa. Yeah, I get it.” Willa’s name hung in the air around them, the two of them stuck in an unintentional moment of silence before Wynonna spoke again. “Waverly asked what I’m doing after I graduate.”

“I hope you didn’t tell her the stripper thing.”

“Fuck no.” Wynonna tongued the inside of her cheek. “I told her I wanted to leave.” 

“Okay?”  
  
“She didn’t love that.”

“Obviously she’s gonna be sad when you leave. That’s pretty normal. That’s why you’re so bummed out?”

“No, it’s-” Wynonna’s nostrils flared. “Nevermind.”

“Hey, sorry. I don’t get the whole good relationships with your siblings thing. What happened?”

“She like, tween yelled at me? Like, really loud and absolutely no filter. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Mercedes understood. Tucker was stuck in that phase, and she was pretty sure that unlike Waverly, it wasn’t something he’d grow out of. “Yeah. It’s the worst.”

“She was...she was just so _ sad _, man.”

“Sad Waverly sounds like it sucks.” 

“Mega sucks.”

“That’s not going to be for a while, Wy. Your clothes haven’t even hit the stage yet.”

Wynonna laughed. “I know. I never really thought about it until now. Really thought about it.” She bent her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them with a sigh. “I thought she didn’t want me around.” 

“Bullshit. You know Waves wants you here. You wanted her not to so it’d be easier.”

Wynonna bristled but said nothing.

“Wanna know what I think?”

“You’re gonna tell me anyway,” Wynonna groaned.

“You’re afraid you’re going to fuck up Waverly’s life. And you think if you leave it’s going to, I don’t know, save her or something.”

“That’s not a revolutionary guess, Mercedes. I _ did _ fuck up Waverly’s life. God, saying I fucked up is the understatement of the century.”

There wasn’t a good counter-argument Mercedes could come up with. She knew—vaguely—about everything that happened with the Earps, through whispered gossip and in bits and pieces from Wynonna herself. And according to Wynonna? Demons. And lots of them. 

As Wynonna grew older, her insistence waned. While people more charitable reasoned it was Wynonna simply getting over the experience with a clearer head, Mercedes could tell it was Wynonna tired of asking for people to believe her. Because that was...Mercedes didn’t want to use the word “crazy”. But others didn’t have the same reservations.

Regardless of what happened, the fallout cast a shadow that grew with each passing year, a dark weight Wynonna would always carry with her. It wasn’t as simple as telling her that everything would be okay, because it wouldn’t, and Wynonna would never fall for such an empty sentiment. Something so horrible never truly left a person. It made sense that for Wynonna, the physical act of moving away would be as close as she could get to feeling like such a thing was possible.

So Mercedes said something else. “You don’t have to excommunicate yourself because you think it’d be doing everyone a favour.”

Wynonna shook her head and looked at Mercedes with disbelief. “Everyone hates me, Mercedes.”

That wasn’t true.

“I don’t.”

It didn’t have the effect Mercedes hoped it would, the buzz of the forest answering on Wynonna’s behalf. Mercedes was only one person against an entire town, and she wasn’t enough to stop the mob. Only one person could do that for her. 

"Waverly doesn't."

There it was. Wynonna’s smile. "Yeah, fine, you're both okay."

A compliment of the highest kind. Mercedes smirked and gave Wynonna an affectionate push, who retaliated with a light shove of her own, the both of them silently thankful for a small moment of reprieve. 

“I know leaving for you is...it means a lot and I get it. And you have the money and you can just _ go _. You have a choice.”

“So do you,” Mercedes said. 

“See, that’s the thing? I don’t. Being around this is…” Wynonna mimicked a gunshot to the head, accompanied by a Razzie Award winning performance of dying. “Here’s the real fun part? I’m not even sure if I _ can _ leave. And no matter what I do, whether I stay or go? Something will fuck up. And Waverly will be screwed either way.”

"Waves is doing fine and she's going to be fine. Everyone loves her. Shit, no matter what you do, the kid absolutely loves you. She's like, the perfect baby sister. She's gonna be okay." 

Wynonna went as rigid as the stone they sat on. “It’s not just that. There’s…” she held her legs tighter, burying her mouth into her knees. “It might not be. Fine, I mean.”

“Why?”

The sound of sirens in the distance. Wynonna wringing her hands. “Something really, really bad is going to happen, and, I thought if I left maybe I could stop it but I don’t know how it works-”

“Whoa, slow down,” Mercedes interrupted, crawling in front of Wynonna and resting on her knees. “What?”

“Look, what me and Waverly argued about-” Wynonna unfurled her limbs, her hands balled into fists against the scratchy wool blanket. “I never asked you because I figured why bother, right? But you’re leaving soon and if this goes to shit then I don’t have to worry if you hate me or not.”

“Come on. I’m not going to _ hate _ you.” Mercedes didn’t even know if such a thing were possible.

Wynonna looked up at her, her pale green eyes filled with a desperation that filled Mercedes with dread, a silent plea for understanding.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

Mercedes mouth felt like a desert. “For what?”

Wynonna saw through her lie. She knew Mercedes understood what she was asking but rephrased it anyways. 

“Do you believe me?”

Fuck.

Anything but this.

It was an inevitability. An inevitability that Mercedes thought if she ignored for long enough, she’d never have to confront it. Her immediate reaction was to say that she believed her with every fibre of her being, that Wynonna could claim that everyone in town was a demon and she’d believe it.

She was always magnetic like that, after all.

But she couldn’t. Because logically, demons didn’t exist. The weird shit that happened in Purgatory all the time was just that—weird shit. Small town superstition. If she let herself believe it, then where would she be? And as much as Mercedes admired Wynonna for how she could stand so tall against what people did to her, Mercedes wasn’t Wynonna. She wasn’t brave. She wasn’t strong. And like a coward, she said nothing and looked away, unable to look Wynonna in the eyes anymore.

Yet that couldn’t stop her from feeling the disappointment in Wynonna’s voice.

“Thought so.”

A dull knife through her heart.

Mercedes wanted Wynonna to call her out for what she really was; a little goddamn _ shit _, a social-climbing asshole who was fine with being by Wynonna’s side as long as she didn’t have to do any of the work of having her back on something that mattered. That, no matter how different Wynonna was for her, Mercedes could never do the same for her. When she failed to say something—anything—Mercedes was just as complicit as everyone else. 

“I don’t care, if that matters,” Mercedes said, her voice shaking.

“Wow. Awesome.”

“Fuck, what I mean-”

“I get it. You can put away the shovel.”

“No! That’s not-” Mercedes stammered, “I don’t know what happened. I can’t imagine how fucking horrible it was. What happened with your dad was an accident. And Willa-”

“Mercedes-”

“I don’t think you’re crazy!” Mercedes’ voice echoed off into the woods and into the night sky, Wynonna’s eyes widening at the force. Mercedes sighed. “I really, really don’t. Okay? I know you aren’t. But…”

“But you don’t believe me.” 

The ambience around them nearly swallowed Wynonna’s small voice whole. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Seeing Wynonna so defeated was something Mercedes hated, and she hated that she was the one who had done it. She had to salvage this. This couldn’t be what Wynonna remembered about her. 

“Wynonna…”

Hesitantly, Mercedes reached down to Wynonna’s hand, careful to avoid the bruises and gashes on her knuckles. Wynonna didn’t respond to her touch, but didn’t push her away either, her eyes blank and jaw firmly locked in place.

“When I say I don’t care...I mean that nothing is going to change what I think about you. Which is all good stuff, by the way.” 

A small twitch in Wynonna’s hand.

“Look, you’re badass, strong, and you make me laugh my ass off. And you know what Wynonna? Even if I don’t believe in demons and everything else, you’re my best friend and you’re…you’re you. And I really, really like that about you.”

A slow nod.

“I’m sorry.”

She said it again so hard that it made her sick, like she was ripping off her skin in desperation to show what was on the inside was genuine. She wanted to say that she cared, that she _ loved _ her even, in the way people loved summer nights or their favourite song or sleeping in on a Sunday. And she wanted to say that she saw Wynonna for all the good that she was, that she understood what she was going through even if it was a lie. But the tragedy before her was that Mercedes could never relate and could never be strong enough to say what she felt, that she could feel their connection slipping away like sand through her fingers.

All because she was a little shit who couldn’t give Wynonna the words she deserved to hear. 

Terrifyingly, Mercedes knew Wynonna saw through the barrier she constructed for herself when their eyes finally met again. And, terrifyingly, Mercedes felt herself leaning forward, her forehead pressed against Wynonna’s before she could understand what was happening. She had to say something. They’d gotten this far and she needed to say something.

“You’re incredible.”

That wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all.

But Wynonna wouldn’t let Mercedes speak again. Mercedes felt it in her chest first, the feeling of Wynonna’s lips on hers, a physical connection filling the void words couldn’t. And Mercedes was reaching, searching, not sure where to put her goddamn _ hands _ of all things, awestruck and confused and too many things to name. When Wynonna threaded her fingers through her hair Mercedes felt herself collapsing, and she wanted to fall endlessly until she didn’t miss solid ground anymore. Finally— _ finally _—Mercedes’ hands found the courage where she had none, her arms wrapping around Wynonna’s waist and holding her close, her flannel shirt soft underneath Mercedes’ palms. And it was all so frantic, clawing at something out of reach, needing to feel anything that wasn’t a stagnant-everything-nothing. 

A connection. No matter the kind.

It ended abruptly when Wynonna pulled back and dug her face into Mercedes’ shoulders, her arms falling limply to her sides as she shook, incoherencies falling through gritted teeth.

“Wy, hey,” Mercedes pulled Wynonna closer. “Hey.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Mercedes was trying her best not to shake too.

“I don’t know,” Wynonna said, forcing the words from her chest. “I don’t fucking—I don’t know.”

Mercedes wanted to ask for elabouration but stopped herself. She didn’t know what plagued Wynonna and could never understand it even if she did. Worse what that, selfishly, she didn’t know if she could talk about it anymore. She couldn’t be the reason Wynonna felt so alone, and she attended Sunday school enough to know that a rooster crowing was a sound she should be afraid of.

“I’m here,” Mercedes said gently, rubbing small circles into Wynonna’s back. “Alright?”

Wynonna sighed and lifted her head, wiping away her tears and chuckling to herself. “Shit, I’m all over the place tonight.”

“Isn’t that our standard?”

Wynonna laughed weakly. “Yeah but...wow.” 

When Mercedes rested her hand on Wynonna’s thigh she smirked, sliding her own, bruised one on top with a heavy exhale. “That fight, ‘Cedes? It wasn’t. I punched a wall. A lot.”

The suddenness of Wynonna’s statement caught her off guard, and it took her a moment to process it. “Jesus.” Mercedes looked down and finally got a good look at Wynonna’s hand. Her stomach dropped. “Why?”

“Refer to our previous conversation,” Wynonna said flatly.

“Oh.” 

Wynonna turned her head to the side and shrunk. 

“You don’t need to be embarrassed. Are you okay?”

“I mean…” Wynonna laughed coarsely. 

“Yeah. Bad question.”

They went back to turning their eyes to the Big City, the headlights of cards less numerous in the dead of night. They sat shoulder to shoulder, Mercedes unsure of what to do now that Wynonna had come clean. It hurt to be bad at this. It hurt to be bad at Wynonna.

Even so, Mercedes slung her arm over Wynonna’s shoulder and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. She could feel Wynonna’s smile under her lips.

“Mercedes?”

“Mm?”

“Can I uh…” she began, “can I stay over? I don’t...yeah.”

She didn’t need to say it. 

_ I don’t want to be alone. _

“Duh bitch,” Mercedes said. Perhaps there were some things she could do after all. “I assumed that’s what was happening. And we're cleaning your hand as soon as we get back.”

Wynonna relaxed under Mercedes’ arm, sidling closer together, relieved. The only thanks Mercedes needed. 

“Good. Because I already told Gus.”

Mercedes rolled her eyes playfully and allowed herself a wide smile, the warm night breeze cooling her skin like a sigh. And, privately, Mercedes caught the sliver-thin feeling of the night of the party again, a momentary glimmer that she was quick enough to catch. Only this time she would remember everything. 


End file.
